<?xml version='1.0' encoding='ISO-8859-1'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693</id><updated>2010-02-19T11:23:58.305Z</updated><title type='text'>totallygone</title><subtitle type='html'>travel, at a tangent</subtitle><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.totallygone.com/blog/atom.xml'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>95</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-5697808171245653230</id><published>2009-05-09T11:12:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-05-09T11:14:35.077+01:00</updated><title type='text'>totallygoing</title><content type='html'>Totallygone.com will be relaunched on June 1 as a photoblog, in preparation for my migration to the French Riviera. More updates to follow.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;SS&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-5697808171245653230?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/5697808171245653230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=5697808171245653230' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/5697808171245653230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/5697808171245653230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2009/05/totallygoing.html' title='totallygoing'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-5090483366282078569</id><published>2008-11-07T15:59:00.002Z</published><updated>2008-11-07T16:13:46.665Z</updated><title type='text'>A new life</title><content type='html'>Since it's a good time for a new start, TG is migrating - to a different host and a different platform.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Since its conception in October 2002, totallygone.com has been hosted on ibiblio and produced using the Blogger platform. Two main reasons for moving are:-&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;ibiblio hosts &lt;acronym title="Not for Profit"&gt;NFP sites and I'm going to start using tg for affiliate links&lt;/acronym&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Since New blogger, the degree of functionality for the hosted version seems to have fallen off, and &lt;a href="http://wordpress.org"&gt;Wordpress&lt;/a&gt; offers greater flexibility and a huge number of themes, templates, plugins and widgets.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;div&gt;So we're away!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-5090483366282078569?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://totallygone.joyeurs.com/blog' title='A new life'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/5090483366282078569/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=5090483366282078569' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/5090483366282078569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/5090483366282078569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2008/11/new-life.html' title='A new life'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-8616834342982599466</id><published>2007-01-20T15:26:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-11-20T18:48:55.541Z</updated><title type='text'>Talk to me!</title><content type='html'>I'm celebrating my 100th post to this blog by adding a new function - instant messaging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can use the meebo widget to send me an instant message if I'm online, or if I'm not, it'll wait for me until I log in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 20px; CURSOR: pointer"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://widget.meebo.com/mm.swf?TuPTkHQtKA" width="160" height="250" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Change the default nickname to let me know who you are (unless you want to have an anonymous bitch/sleaze). And leave an email address so that I can get back to you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.meebo.com/" target="_blank"&gt;Meebo's&lt;/a&gt; main appeal is that you can use its Flash-based application to chat using your preferred protocol - AIM/MSN/GmailTalk/Yahoo etc when you have no access to the services' own applications. And, if you want, you can embed a widget like this one on your own website.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;acronym title="talk to you later"&gt;TTYL!&lt;/acronym&gt;, Sx&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-8616834342982599466?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/8616834342982599466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=8616834342982599466' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/8616834342982599466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/8616834342982599466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2007/01/talk-to-me.html' title='Talk to me!'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-5231618870497249308</id><published>2007-01-19T08:33:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-03-02T20:42:20.041Z</updated><title type='text'>Cruelles de Ville</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/cruelles-716741.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/cruelles-714203.jpg" alt="Nice Shoppers" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Septegenarians peruse antiques in the market at the Cours Soleya, Nice. The furs, diamonds and crocodile- and snake-skin accessories are real, as is the blonde hair (although that may not be their own). I followed these ladies and hid behind an arrangement of clothes to catch them with my zoom lens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The image screams luxury and decadance, although what it doesn?t convey is the warmth of the day; temperatures on the French Riviera in January can reach the high 60s, which makes it hugely popular destination for the elderly, rich, and rich elderly. So the thick furs are entirely, as they say in those parts, &lt;em&gt;de trop&lt;/em&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They are, I discover later, handling crucifixes. Old vamps, but not vampires, then. One points a taloned finger to a selection shown them by the marketeer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;em&gt;'Combien?'&lt;/em&gt; How much?&lt;br /&gt;'This one?' he replies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;'Non, tous'&lt;/em&gt;. No, all of them.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-5231618870497249308?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/5231618870497249308/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=5231618870497249308' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/5231618870497249308'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/5231618870497249308'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2007/01/cruelles-de-ville.html' title='Cruelles de Ville'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-5308022197426929510</id><published>2007-01-10T13:24:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-01-10T22:54:39.618Z</updated><title type='text'>Green Lantern</title><content type='html'>&lt;table width="493" height="200" align="left"&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td colspan="2" align="left"&gt;I am &lt;b&gt;Green Lantern&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;table width="487"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td width="263"&gt;&lt;table width="286"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;Green Lantern&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="4" width="100"&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt; 100%&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;Iron Man&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="4" width="90"&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt; 90%&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;Spider-Man&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="4" width="90"&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt; 90%&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;Robin&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="4" width="85"&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt; 85%&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;Hulk&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="4" width="80"&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt; 80%&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;Superman&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="4" width="75"&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt; 75%&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;The Flash&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="4" width="70"&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt; 70%&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;Batman&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="4" width="70"&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt; 70%&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;Wonder Woman&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="4" width="45"&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt; 45%&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;Supergirl&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="4" width="45"&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt; 45%&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;Catwoman&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="4" width="35"&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt; 35%&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td width="212"&gt;&lt;img src="http://thesuperheroquiz.com/pics/lantern2.jpg" width="100px"height="240px" align="left" /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td colspan="2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.thesuperheroquiz.com/"&gt; Which Superhero are you?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Having been raised on a literary diet that spanned Homer and Cosmopolitan, I've always been a sucker for both heroes and self-discovery tests.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Superhero Quiz ticks both boxes, and some of the questions make you think hard about who you really are. Are you a do-gooder? Do you wear thongs? Are you beautiful?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If the answer to all - or any - of these questions is 'yes', you may be a secret superhero. So I'll see you on a rooftop somewhere, in a dark and dangerous metropolis. Like Walthamstow, where things are always &lt;a href="http://gone-wrong.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"&gt;going wrong&lt;/a&gt;, and there is much work for an intrepid superhero.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-5308022197426929510?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.thesuperheroquiz.com' title='Green Lantern'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/5308022197426929510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=5308022197426929510' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/5308022197426929510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/5308022197426929510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2007/01/green-lantern.html' title='Green Lantern'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-5578054759557036459</id><published>2007-01-06T23:29:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-12-25T15:16:09.777Z</updated><title type='text'>Apple: Reloaded</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lgladdy/335707370/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 137px; height: 181px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/137/335707370_41a37a9338_m.jpg" alt="Agents Smith: Photo by Liam Gladdy" title="Agents Smith: photo by Liam Gladdy" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My trip to the Apple Store to return the laptop I'd bought there three days earlier (to replace one bought the previous week from another retailer altogether) was every bit as stressful as I anticipated, but for unforeseen reasons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my hurry to escape the store, I'd left my extension cable there after having tested Replacement III for power leakage across the chassis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I returned to see if it'd been left in some corner of the 28,000 square-foot store, hoping against hope that I'd not have to pay for a new one to replace or get a refund on the unit. So, I asked one of the 'Creatives' at the Studio, where I'd left the cable, if he could  have a look for it:&lt;br /&gt;Blankly (not his name),"Uh, try the guy who served you? What was his name, do you remember?"&lt;br /&gt;I replied that the guy's name was M***.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Plus&lt;/em&gt;Blank.  "We've got about 20 guys called M****."&lt;br /&gt;I could tell that my question offered no creative potential and was therefore pretty worthless, thanked the guy profusely and wandered off in search of someone more focused, less creative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, I encountered someone who was  a true delight - so delightful that I reckon he's an iGuy, sent to the present day from 22nd Century Apple. Cute, of an indeterminate age, cuddly as a hobbit (but without hairy toes), quick to smile, eager to please, and approachably sweet without being saccharine.  He gave me advice that read like Chicken Soup for the Stored-Out Soul: "Just keep trying people until you get the right answer".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrid_Proll" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 151px; height: 119px;" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/_40924013_astridprollpa-783250.jpg" alt="Astrid Proll, terrorist" title="Astrid Proll, terrorist" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So I did that, and eventually ended up back at the counter where I'd left the cord, talking with a different Creative. With an expression of breezy nonchalance similar to those sported by &lt;a href="http://www.baader-meinhof.com/who/terrorists/bmgang/prollastrid.html" target="_blank"&gt;Astrid Proll and her crew&lt;/a&gt;, this one sized me up,  sauntered coolly to a drawer and passed me one. Just like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I packed it into the box with my laptop and went downstairs, where they swapped my computer for a new one. That was the easy bit. As I waited at the counter for my new MacBook Pro, M*** appeared, as if by magic. Of course, wearing matching black outfits as they do, Apple Store staff seem to appear by a process of self-replication, like that scene in The Matrix where Smith suddenly becomes A Lot of Smiths. Only it's like, A Lot of M***s.&lt;object style="margin: 10px;" movie="" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/D4m4ohKf2fw" align="right" height="175" width="212"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/D4m4ohKf2fw" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="175" width="212"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, depending on what I'm wearing, I feel voltage of varying degrees coursing through my fingertips. The only surefire way of guaranteeing minimal transmission is by standing on the chair when I'm using my laptop. Really - I've tested this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Barefoot at my desk, first thing in the morning, I'm shocked into a state of wakefulness. The best thing, I'm sure, is to buy insulated clothing. A wetsuit, perhaps.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-5578054759557036459?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/5578054759557036459/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=5578054759557036459' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/5578054759557036459'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/5578054759557036459'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2007/01/size-no-guarantee-of-strength.html' title='Apple: Reloaded'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-5959295334810420957</id><published>2007-01-05T11:07:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-01-06T13:42:54.401Z</updated><title type='text'>Ol' Faithful</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/jd-753790.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 5pt 5px 5px 5pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 80px; height: 117px;" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/jd-750487.jpg" alt="Jack Daniels label" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Years ago, in the mid-eighties, I met a young American girl, let's call her Jane, who was travelling through Europe on her gap year (although they didn't use that term then). She and her friend were floating around Europe in a hashish- and heroin-induced haze between party, bar and nightclub, bedecked entirely in black - 501's, Doc Martens and heavy eye-liner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One night, as she lay sprawled across a couch, joint in one hand, whisky glass in the other, she joked to me (between hiccoughs) that, because JD was the only man she'd ever been faithful to, she liked to be called "Ol' Mrs Daniels' when she was kickin' back and hangin' loose.  She was about 20 years old at the time, as was I, so it was funny and cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;The shock of the new&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/minor-709388.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 5pt 5px 5px 5pt; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 169px; height: 89px;" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/minor-705109.jpg" alt="Apple is in the details" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I was thinking of Ol' Mrs D the other day, as I stood in the Regent Street Apple Store, explaining to the Apple 'Mac Specialist' that I'd been using Apple machines for fifteen or so years, and don't expect &lt;a href="http://www.appledefects.com/wiki/index.php?title=MacBook_Pro#Electric_Shock_from_MBP_while_plugged_in_for_charging" target="_blank"&gt;mild electric shocks&lt;/a&gt; to be part of my MacBook Pro Intel Core 2 Duo experience. For £1,349.00 (that's around $2,700 today).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="175" width="212" style="margin: 0pt 5px 5px 0px; padding:5px; float:left;"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/IPdtDHjr3QM"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/IPdtDHjr3QM" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="175" width="212" style="margin: 0pt 5px 5px 5px; padding:2px; float="left""&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;Having originally bought the machine from nearby MicroAnvika, I'd been advised by their engineer, who tried to find a replacement for the computer I'd bought there and failed, after two replacements, to go to the Apple Store and buy one there, after having inspected it. So that's what took me to the &lt;a href="http://flickr.com/photos/lgladdy/sets/72157594443611983/" target="_blank" alt="Liam's flickr set"&gt;Apple Store&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what it is. Maybe it's just me, but there's something about the Apple Store. Maybe it's too modern, too busy, too big. Maybe the staff are a just a tad too confident. Other than the really nice one I got talking to the other day who was like someone's Mum, all comfy, like cuddles and custard, and was, I suspect, covering for an errant son (she knew little about computers but was lovely to talk to).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I bought my new notebook (they're too hot for your lap, hence abandonment of the term 'laptop'), and tested it on-site. No nasty tingling feeling. I thought that the keys looked a little crooked, but put that down to my astigmatism. Wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back at the ranch, working on my mother's wooden table, there's a mild buzzing at my fingertips when I touch the aluminium casing. At my own desk, also wooden, the buzzing sensation's not so mild. And the keys are a little skewed, and there's an almost imperceptible (tho' not to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;me&lt;/span&gt;) rattle as the disk cycles down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm off to the Apple Store tomorrow, with my latest MacBook Pro Intel 2 Core Duo, either to get my money back and wait until the next revision of this series, or to swap mine for another unit.  I had a chat with one of their technical support execs, who recommended this course of action. He was very cheerful, and very &lt;a href="http://www.macintouch.com/readerreports/apple/topic4045.html" target="_blank" alt="MacFixit forums"&gt;far away&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Having read the job spec for '&lt;a href="http://jobs.apple.com/index.ajs?BID=2&amp;Language=en&amp;amp;method=mHvexternal.showPositionDetails&amp;PID=32" target="_blank"&gt;Mac Specialists&lt;/a&gt;' on the Apple UK website, I am surprised by how much internal resistance I'm experiencing to getting my Mac in its box and heading off to Regent Street...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;i&gt;"Instead of "Get paid to spread the love" let?s say "Get paid to enrich people?s lives"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;I'll get back to you once I'm feeling a little richer...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-5959295334810420957?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/5959295334810420957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=5959295334810420957' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/5959295334810420957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/5959295334810420957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2007/01/ol-faithful.html' title='Ol&apos; Faithful'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-7933612525254464615</id><published>2006-12-01T00:00:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-01-05T21:09:54.938Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hiv'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='culture'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gay'/><title type='text'>Red ribbons</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e6/World_Aids_Day_Ribbon.png/180px-World_Aids_Day_Ribbon.png"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 51px; height: 89px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e6/World_Aids_Day_Ribbon.png/180px-World_Aids_Day_Ribbon.png" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Many of you, going about their daily business on December 1st, will notice the occasional red ribbon fluttering against someone's lapel and wonder what that means. Some will think it's because the wearer wants to say s/he's gay, but doesn't want to wear a pink triangle (or an entire outfit of Diesel clothing).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Others will think that there's something politically correct about wearing a red ribbon; that showing support for the deprived and disaffected of the Third World and the diseased and depraved of the West is something to be tolerated but not encouraged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And others, most of whom will have a ribbon fluttering against their own lapel, will know exactly why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's an email I sent last year to the buildings manager of my last long-term employer, who relayed to me a message that suggested, subtely, that it was a less worthy cause than the Poppy Appeal. So for those of you who've come across these rather ill-considered arguments, I'm delighted to share with you my thoughts on the subject.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;Dear [buildings management employee]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I understand that the reasoning behind the policy [not to provide red ribbons at reception] is that, at Transport for London,  "we have no historical or special connection with HIV/AIDS, as we do with the Royal British Legion", and that there are many 'good causes' that would also like to have their ribbons and armbands displayed and distributed at reception.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However - raising awareness of HIV and AIDS is different from any other good cause, and our connection with HIV and AIDS does differ from that we have with the RBL and Poppy Appeal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;According to the government's &lt;a href="http://www.hpa.org.uk/publications/2005/hiv_sti_2005/default.htm" target="_blank"&gt;Healthcare Protection Agency site&lt;/a&gt;, of the 58,000 people carrying the HIV virus in the UK, 19,700 are entirely unaware that they are doing so. They go about their daily business, - eating their lunch, taking the tube, getting on the bus, sleeping with their wives/partners, checking out your shopping at the supermarket, - not&lt;br /&gt;knowing, as those who share their lives do not know, that they carry a life-threatening and transmissible disease.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That figure of 19,700 is just slightly more than the population of the entire TfL workforce.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What makes the issue of AIDS different from that of other 'good causes' is that HIV is entirely preventable. The one thing that people affected by AIDS in the developed world have in common - whether they're black, white, gay, straight, old or young - is that before it touched their own lives, they thought AIDS was something that had a connection with someone else, and that it wouldn't happen to them, or those they cared for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of the 19,000+ employees at TfL, it may be that none has to work with HIV or AIDS, or that no-one here has a son, daughter, brother, sister or friend who has to do so. This is highly unlikely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my case, I am unlucky to know as many people who have died of HIV as there are employees in my entire department; obviously, from this perspective, I am keen to do whatever I can to ensure that none of my colleagues needs to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What makes raising awareness of AIDS different is that it's something you definitely help with. If, by wearing a red ribbon, and /or encouraging others to do so, you create the cause for one single child to ask what that ribbon means, or for a parent to be honest and straightforward with their son or daughter about taking responsibility for their sexual health, then you will have saved one life, or more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;There is still no cure and no vaccine for HIV&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Statistics show that the incidences of drug-resistant cases of HIV are rising and that more HIV+ people will die as a result&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Since 1982, more than 6,000 children have been born in the UK to HIV-positive mothers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Buying a poppy is unlikely to stop anyone's son, husband, father, brother or friend getting injured or killed in a war, although it will help alleviate the financial loss of those who survive, and help us grieve for those we have lost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Distributing red ribbons at reception will not, in any way, detract from the respect we give the Poppy Campaign, or lessen our recognition for those who have died or been injured serving their countries. Distributing red ribbons may well save lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the five or so minutes it's taken you to read this email, five people have died of HIV. Three of those were children. Of those children, none will ever grow up to be able to read an email.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please reconsider the policy to distribute red ribbons at reception.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-7933612525254464615?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/7933612525254464615/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=7933612525254464615' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/7933612525254464615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/7933612525254464615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/12/red-ribbons.html' title='Red ribbons'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-116242992378519198</id><published>2006-11-02T00:31:00.000Z</published><updated>2007-03-05T22:57:46.447Z</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='culture'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='commercials'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blogs'/><title type='text'>Scrubs up nicely</title><content type='html'>&lt;object name="movie" param="" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sxkHziSqmCI" style="border: 0px; padding: 2px; float: right; margin-right: 4px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 8px;" title="Cynthia Makris as Verdi's Lady Macbeth" align="right" height="175" width="212"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sxkHziSqmCI" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" style="border: 1px solid rgb(255, 255, 255); padding: 2px; float: right; margin-right: 4px; margin-left: 8px; margin-top: 0px;" bgcolor="#000000" height="175" width="212"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;It's hard to think of cleaning being fun, whether you're watching or doing it. The chore to end all chores,  only people afflicted by obsessive compulsive disorder or guilty of some terrible crime can be found cleaning with either relish or vigour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object name="movie" param="" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/hCgw0Kp89Kw" style="border: 0px solid rgb(255, 255, 255); padding: 2px; float: left; margin-right: 8px; margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 10px;" title="Desperately clean glasses" align="left" height="175" width="212"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/hCgw0Kp89Kw" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" style="border: 0px solid rgb(255, 255, 255); padding: 2px; float: left; margin-right: 8px; margin-top: 5px;" bgcolor="#000000" height="175" width="212"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div style="padding-left: 300px; display: none;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So deep is our desire to avoid unpleasant chores that advertisers have to work doubly, triply hard to lure customers towards anything that brings them to mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enter Cleaning Hunk and his slimmer, (even) gayer, counterpart Nude Cleaner, both of whom, by flashing a little flesh  add a whole lot more fun to the domestic mix. They both know (as do you) that sex sells. Anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A-grade soap&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://cleaninghunk.com/"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 5pt 5pt 5px 5px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 212px; height: 159px;" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/cleaninghunk-774879.jpg" alt="Cleaning Hunk" border="1" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Cleaning hunk is your top-of-the line, premium sex 'n soap site, complete with viral marketing campaign (selling -  you guessed it, soap), a website featuring interactive flash movies and real, A-grade American beefcake. Slightly robotic and perhaps a little steroidal, Cleaning Hunk has perfect teeth, sparkling eyes and a slightly anodyne script that titillates briefly until it's time to choose another version with a different soundtrack, outfit, beard and bulge. You won't buy the soap -  but you'll definitely send the link to your mates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nude Cleaner, on the other hand, features Brazilian beef in the form of a slightly irritating (and clearly very irritated) young steer who blogs in broken English and cleans - yes, in the nude. With a lot of attitude, without any clothes. But it's language that makes this site special. Note, for starters, the choice of "nude" over "naked", and consider.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://museoprado.mcu.es/icuadro_febrero_2002.html"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 5pt 5px 5px 5pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 153px; height: 204px;" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/image-733069.jpg" alt="Adam &amp; Eve, Titian" border="1" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;"Naked" evokes vulnerability and subjection, "nude" conjures up images of pensive models in light, airy studios, surrounded by flushed, furtive students with moist (perhaps quivering) upper lips. Despite his broken English, Nude Cleaner's ability to suggest without saying is superb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He portrays his clients' homes as foreign landscapes that he navigates, appraises and critiques. At no point does he mention the bit he likes least - scrubbing. Those of you who have a maid and spend the day before s/he arrives cleaning will appreciate this; he's able to be a bitch to his clients -  "You don't want no &lt;a href="http://nudecleaner.blog.com/1147303/" target="_blank"&gt;chewing gum&lt;/a&gt; on  settee? Change your friends! -  and still get asked back. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It just goes to show - it's still so difficult to find good help, these days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Check 'em out. &lt;a href="http://cleaninghunk.com/" target="_blank"&gt;Cleaning Hunk&lt;/a&gt;, and &lt;a href="http://www.nudecleaner.blog.com/" target="_blank"&gt;Nude Cleaner&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-116242992378519198?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/116242992378519198/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=116242992378519198' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/116242992378519198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/116242992378519198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/11/scrubs-up-nicely.html' title='Scrubs up nicely'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-116162250519832227</id><published>2006-10-23T17:52:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-11-09T18:50:00.645Z</updated><title type='text'>Jump off the treadmill</title><content type='html'>&lt;object name="movie" param="" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NINJQ5LRh-0" style="border: 1px solid rgb(255, 255, 255); padding: 2px; float: left; margin-right: 8px; margin-top: 3px; margin-bottom: 20px;" align="left" height="263" width="318"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NINJQ5LRh-0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" style="border: 1px solid rgb(255, 255, 255); padding: 2px; float: left; margin-right: 8px; margin-top: 5px;" bgcolor="#000000" height="263" width="318"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, latest news is that after six weeks of working for someone I can at best, with a mixture of extreme self-restraint and limitless compassion describe as a total &lt;a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=numpty" target="_blank" alt="lookup at Urban Dictionary" title="lookup at Urban Dictionary"&gt;numpty&lt;/a&gt;, I've cut loose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work that you don't enjoy is a treadmill - hard slog, and it gets you nowhere. So if that sounds familiar to you, just jump off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's easy, and look - it's fun!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-116162250519832227?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/116162250519832227/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=116162250519832227' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/116162250519832227'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/116162250519832227'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/10/jump-off-treadmill.html' title='Jump off the treadmill'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-116130449091397112</id><published>2006-10-20T01:19:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-11-27T22:19:08.191Z</updated><title type='text'>Escalation</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.btplc.com/Thegroup/Theboard/BenVerwaayen/BenVerwaayen.htm"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 94px; height: 165px;" src="http://www.btplc.com/Report/Review02/graphics/ceo_pic.gif" alt="Ben Verwaayen: Image courtesy BT plc" title="Ben Verwaayen: image courtesy BT" border="1" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A breath of fresh air - great customer service, from on high.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After eight weeks of being deprived of broadband following a change of address (3m up to the next floor in the same building)  my broadband internet access has finally been restored.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd switched from Metronet (a great little indie pay-as-you-go outfit, recently acquired by über-awful Plusnet) because they'd tried to extort a £60 ($100) reconnection fee and make me wait for (in hindsight, just) two weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Mad Max&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I chose Madasafish - funky marketing, great reviews, 8mb MAX ADSL, and cheaper than the competition - BUT - a customer service team in a developing country, without a great deal of expertise in problem solving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="float: left; margin-right: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 5px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/totallygone/96689436/" title="Mad fish, Thailand"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static.flickr.com/38/96689436_a28b03f00d_m.jpg" alt="Fishes" style="border: 1px ; width: 240px; height: 180px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="margin-top: 5px;font-size:10px;" &gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/totallygone/96689436/"&gt;Loaves and fishes&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Weeks passed, with each call informing me that it was BT's fault (a system one), and the problem was being escalated.  So many times was this repeated that I was eventually prompted to reply to one of the Madasafish team, "Escalated to what level? Surely it must've reached God, by now".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Call-centre class&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br&gt;Madasafish has one asset in the form of a customer services supervisor called Shanelle, who has a calming influence on distraught customers and a dedication to following up - even when forced to repeat bad news to a (potentially very nasty) customer. Having a name that sounds like a fashion label helps a lot - people inevitably drop their guard (and usually their cash) at the sound of a designer brand. Eventually, she was even more disappointed by my inability to connect than even I was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully, she'll be hired by a boss who'll make it possible for her to press a button and make things happen. Someone like the amazing Mr Veerwayen, whose finger is on the British Telecom button. Even while most of us are sleeping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;While you were sleeping&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came across  Mr Veerwayen, who is CEO of BT, on a weblog that told of an unresolved complaint to the firm that he'd had fixed (as if by magic) and had replied to the complaint within minutes (by Blackberry). Naturally, I believed none of this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, more out of a sense of 'let's see if this is for real' I emailed him (at around midnight last night), and to my surprise and delight, received the following email at &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;05:51 &lt;/span&gt;hours:-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;Simon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, this must be very frustrating&lt;br /&gt;Second, the customer contact is a matter for the ISP&lt;br /&gt;This is a delicate matter, it is the new regulation&lt;br /&gt;Clearly you should be able to get the service through them&lt;br /&gt;I will ask Mick Wayman, Customer Service Director of BT Wholesale to look into this, and see what can be done in assisting your ISP to serve you better&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ben&lt;/blockquote&gt;and now, less than 24 hours later, I have ADSL.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Go Dutch!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, here are three observations, transmitted using MAX broadband, supplied by BT via their retailer Madasafish:-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Always escalate your own complaint; don't wait for anyone else to do it. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Any company that has a CEO who answers its customers personally, signing with his first name, deserves your business. I would recommend BT - on the strength of this one experience -  to anyone.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;We need someone running this country who comes from a country where people have an aversion to bulls**t.  That nearest country would undoubtedly be Holland.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt; Once I'd forwarded Mr Verwaayen's email to Madasafish, everything happened very quickly. At &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;7.22&lt;/span&gt; a message from BT Wholesale's customer service MD, Mick Wayman arrived, reassuring me that his High Level Complaints team was on the case, and by the time I got home this evening, I was surfing with my new 8mb connection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So thank you, BT, and Ben, for sorting that out. I should have listened to my mother, who told me to choose your company from the start. Mothers, huh? Annoyingly right, most of the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Be like dad - keep Mum!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, my mother is convinced that all this is due to the fact that Walthamstow's telephone exchange must be creaking under the weight of all the additional surveillance installed since our local terrorist cell was unearthed in August.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last year, she told me she was convinced that the local Arab cafï¿½s were full of plotters and I laughed. This year, our locale was all over the &lt;a href="http://en.wikinews.org/wiki/Police_in_Britain_claim_to_have_disrupted_a_terrorist_attack" target="_blank" alt="wiki: walthamstow terrorism"&gt;international news&lt;/a&gt;, and from the French Riviera we saw our neighbourhood on CNN.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is full of surprises. Now I have broadband MAX, I'll be even more prepared.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-116130449091397112?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/116130449091397112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=116130449091397112' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/116130449091397112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/116130449091397112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/10/escalation.html' title='Escalation'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-116125636941163921</id><published>2006-10-19T12:06:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-11-09T16:12:26.766Z</updated><title type='text'>Queen's English - revisited</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN-BOTTOM: 10px; MARGIN-LEFT: 10px"&gt;&lt;a title="photo sharing" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/totallygone/7517806/"&gt;&lt;img style="BORDER-RIGHT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-TOP: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 2px solid; BORDER-BOTTOM: #000000 2px solid" alt="Banksy: Tourist Information" src="http://static.flickr.com/6/7517806_917e92d0ac_m.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="MARGIN-TOP: 0px;font-size:0;" &gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/totallygone/7517806/"&gt;Visit London&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Originally uploaded by&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/totallygone/"&gt;totallygone&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Entertaining a visitor to your hometown is always a great chance to see it through the eyes of a tourist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last evening, spent with my American friend HiC, provided just such an opportunity. From his hotel, the new Hilton near London Bridge, we took a bendy-bus through the City to the Istanbul Iskembecesi restaurant in Dalston - a family concern that dishes up such Turkish delights as traditional tripe soup and melt-in-the mouth borek pastries. It's to be found about a mile north of this piece of public art created by erstwhile aerosol-terrorist (turned celebrity darling ) &lt;a href="http://www.banksy.com"&gt;Banksy&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HiC and I, returning from our cheap and delicious meal of mirth and mixed mezes, were approached by a hobo who asked us for 10p. My experience has proved that this often leads to being asked for more and then insulted when returning a refusal. It's pretty rare for the crackheads of Dalston and Hackney to smile sweetly and say "thanks". It's not Green Gables, y'know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not to mention the fact that flashing a wallet on the Kingsland Rd in the dark of night is just beggin' for trouble. So, we shrugged and walked on, invoking a venomous shriek of 'fucking fags' from said crackhead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HiC is a &lt;a href="http://www.tarotbyhic.com" target="_blank"&gt;seer and sage&lt;/a&gt; of rare merit, hailing from Marin County, close to San Francisco. There, the word 'fag' is used with a kind of fond nostalgia - it's been such a long time since anyone really bothered about anyone's sexuality in that part of the world (other than, of course, for obvious reasons) that it's passed, via neutrality, into the lexicon of hilarity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is amazing that it's an American word that's found its way, via rap music, onto the streets of slum London, where it's used by crack addicts to insult visiting queens.&lt;br clear="all"&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-116125636941163921?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/116125636941163921/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=116125636941163921' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/116125636941163921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/116125636941163921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/10/queens-english-revisited.html' title='Queen&apos;s English - revisited'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-114690117681067790</id><published>2006-05-06T08:31:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-11-09T16:55:07.210Z</updated><title type='text'>The Queen's English</title><content type='html'>Traces of the Empire remain across Asia can be found not only in architecture, art and food, but particularly in its prose. The much-underused (but increasingly necessary) 'tawdry', one of my all-time favourite words, makes an appearance in today's &lt;a href="http://www.telegraphindia.com/1060506/asp/foreign/story_6189583.asp" target="_blank"&gt;Calcutta Telegraph&lt;/a&gt;. Note their kind comments on Margaret Beckett's unlikelihood to stray...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-114690117681067790?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/114690117681067790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=114690117681067790' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/114690117681067790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/114690117681067790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/05/queens-english.html' title='The Queen&apos;s English'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-114554906392289640</id><published>2006-04-20T16:53:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-11-09T11:31:02.741Z</updated><title type='text'>All Creatures Great and.... UGH!!</title><content type='html'>I like to think of myself as someone who's never surprised and rarely shocked. Today I got taught how utterly wrong I am by a creature that weighs less than a gram and is about the same size (fully retracted) as my middle fingernail. No, you've not guessed it (unless you've had the pleasure yourself) - it was my first encounter with a leech. It and I crossed paths at one of northern Thailand's national parks, a vast area of jungle, geysers and waterfalls, with little bungalows set in the crook of a valley. Idyllic - not the kind of place you'd expect to be assaulted by a monster, even a small one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Something in the way he moves...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;It was quite the most unpleasant creature I've ever met (qualifier - that wasn't human); unpleasant not because of the way it looked - a little brown worm with a neatlittle taper to it - but because of the way it moved. Think of a miniature brown &lt;a href="http://slinky.org/" target="_blank"&gt;slinky&lt;/a&gt; on speed, and you're half-way there. Add a really weird way of flicking and flailing from side to side(vein-hunting)like that nasty robot-bug in the Matrix, and you've got the other half.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/totallygone/144981505/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 164px; height: 110px;" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/leech-756570.jpg" alt="leech, hunting" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The most fascinating aspect of the encounter was my own reaction. Interestingly, had a South East Asian Tiger, or some other massive carnivorous beast crossed our path, I would have been fascinated and enthralled (although much more likely to die). However, the sight of this tiny leech and it's weird wriggling instilled more terror into me than any ferocious feline would have done - for the simple reason that it was so clearly, single-mindedly and aggressively after my blood. No ifs, no buts. There's something vaguely reasonable about a tiger or a lion (in my warped imagination).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;They want your blood&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Totally focused and wholly unstoppable - with a brain no bigger than the head of a pin, the leech is way, way smart. Oh yessireee. It cruises the areas around lakes, streams, ponds and waterfalls, operating just like a big cat, knowing that in the unbearable, inescapable heat of the jungle, its prey needs nothing more than water. So it hangs from a branch and waits for a meal to pass beneath, then drops when it detects the presence of a warm body.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A sense of flow&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once it's hit flesh, the leech moves quickly to find a spot where it can feed unhindered. Somewhere dark, under the hem of your shorts or pants, beneath a sandal-strap (if, like me, you're stupid enough to go trekking in sandals), even through a sock. A sucker at each end facilitates speed and agility. One of these is the creature's mouth which, once it's found a decent vein, injects it with an anticoagulant to prevent clotting, facilitating a smooth feed. The bite is imperceptible, and this is attributed to anaesthetic attributes of one or more of the 100 proteins that can be found in the leech's saliva. So you're unlikely to know you've been bitten until you've lost a few millilitres of blood. Because the leech has a tiny body mass, by the time you look down, the large blackish worm you'll see dangling from your flesh will, in fact, be made mostly of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's &lt;a href="http://www.thenakedscientists.com/HTML/Columnists/barrielancastercolumn1.htm" target="_blank"&gt;enough &lt;/a&gt;to make you stay indoors.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-114554906392289640?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/114554906392289640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=114554906392289640' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/114554906392289640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/114554906392289640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/04/all-creatures-great-and-ugh.html' title='All Creatures Great and.... UGH!!'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-114499406586765103</id><published>2006-04-14T06:54:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2006-11-09T11:31:02.445Z</updated><title type='text'>A bigger splash...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/totallygone/128184924/"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 20px 10px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 257px; height: 188px;" alt="Water warriors, Chiang Mai" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/songboys-709542.jpg" border="0" height="212" width="278" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you've all been wondering why all has been quiet on the &lt;em&gt;tg&lt;/em&gt; front these past few weeks, and you've suspected that I've been having too much fun to stop and write, you'd be right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thailand and I are currently caught in the grip of &lt;a href="http://www.northernsmiletravel.com/nstshop/index.php?option=com_content&amp;task=view&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;id=1&amp;Itemid=1&amp;amp;phpshop=a982b4a98271315a741f2b14ccb94fd3" target="_blank"&gt;Songkran&lt;/a&gt;, the Thai New Year festivities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chiang Mai is the epicentre of all the fun which, as my friend Gary put it so succinctly, really is "as much fun as you can get without being horizontal".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Indexed to the birth of Siddartha Guatama (the historical Buddha) in 543 BCE, the Thai calendar begins in April.  Festivities involve throwing water, symbolising purification, renewal and the end of the dry season.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The word 'Songkran' derives from Sanskrit and means 'to move into'; it is a period of transition. The word &lt;a href="http://www.indigogroup.co.uk/edge/liminal.htm"&gt;liminal &lt;/a&gt;is used to describe such states - they are held, by most cultures, to be sacred, magical, powerful and potentially dangerous times, when boundaries become blurred and limits exceeded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.flickr.com/44/131234377_bda5d665eb_o.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 191px;" src="http://static.flickr.com/44/131234377_bda5d665eb_o.jpg" alt="Water baby, Songkran" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Rejuvenation is, of course, one of the major aspects of Songkran and, as parts of Bangkok and nearly all of Chiang Mai turn into a massive water-fight, everyone (with any sense) lets loose their inner child - or their child, or children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone gets wet - it's churlish (and foolish) not to.  Here in northern Thailand, it's incredibly hot at the moment - around 102F at midday, 85F at midnight (40/32C), so getting soaked to the skin is not only a thrill, it's a massive relief.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To point out, as many do, that water is a precious and often scarce resource in Thailand, that it's dangerous and irresponsible, childish and silly, is to miss the point entirely. Thai people live entirely (and often unnervingly) in the present. Have fun today, clear up tomorrow. Get wet, get dry. Laugh - often; there's enough to be serious about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Songkran is of course &lt;a href="http://www.ajarnforum.net/phpbb/about13065.html" target="_blank"&gt;dangerous &lt;/a&gt;too - motorcyclists are killed and maimed year in, year out, as they are ambushed by boisterous, often drunken revellers who unintentionally blind them with a carelessly thrown bucket or squirt of water. But the streets are full of motorcyclists and Rates of conception rocket. It's bizarre, bacchanalian, Buddhist - and brilliant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can see more Songkran photos &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/totallygone/sets/72057594106594124/" target="_blank"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-114499406586765103?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.flickr.com/photos/totallygone/sets/72057594106594124/' title='A bigger splash...'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/114499406586765103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=114499406586765103' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/114499406586765103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/114499406586765103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/04/bigger-splash.html' title='A bigger splash...'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-114252563569017861</id><published>2006-03-16T16:11:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-11-09T11:31:02.008Z</updated><title type='text'>Girls on film</title><content type='html'>&lt;OBJECT name=movie width=212 height=178 align="left" param value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kf9EssaZVq8" style="padding:2px; border:1px solid #fff; float:left; margin-right:8px; margin-top:3px; margin-bottom:20px;"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kf9EssaZVq8" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="212" height="175" style="padding:2px; border:1px solid #fff; float:left; margin-right:8px; margin-top:5px;" bgcolor="#000000"&gt;&lt;/&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/OBJECT&gt; Thai is, according to Berlitz and other authorities, a 'tonal' language, meaning that the pitch of pronunciation also determines the meaning of the spoken word. The girls at the Chiang Mai Brand Fair 2006 are singing something that could mean "We hope you very happy love you please come back soon you look nice too buy some of our beautiful silk". But from the tone, you can tell that they probably mean "you fat &lt;i&gt;farang&lt;/i&gt; bastards go back to whatever godforsaken suburb you came from and take your hired-for-the-night ladyboy with you!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-114252563569017861?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/114252563569017861/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=114252563569017861' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/114252563569017861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/114252563569017861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/03/girls-on-film.html' title='Girls on film'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-114095413564820628</id><published>2006-02-12T11:14:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-11-09T11:31:01.646Z</updated><title type='text'>It's stranger on a train</title><content type='html'>Travelling in Thailand is, if you have the time and the energy, most fun by train. You get to see a whole lot more, both through the window and on the side you're looking out from.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/cowboy2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 162px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 154px" height="75" alt="" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/cowboy1.jpg" width="68" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Reserve, at least a day in advance, a much-coveted and usually booked second class lower-berth sleeper in a fan-cooled carriage. Fan-cooled because A/C will freeze-dry you - in this part of the world, luxury and cool air are synonymous, so always take thermal underwear and one of those emergency handwarmers on a Thai 'VIP' coach. The lower berth is wider, and the overhead light, which would otherwise bother you all night, is obscured by a curtain suspended from the edge of the upper one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the nicest things about travelling on the sleeper is watching the beds being made in the evening - the pulling of hidden straps converts the high-backed seats into surprisingly comfortable beds, and the lifting of shelves reveals hooks for clothes and little reading lights, so that once your curtain is drawn, you have what amounts to a little room to yourself. In the lower berth, you're also next to the window, so you pull the curtain aside to watch the view, until you tire of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some notes I took while waiting in the restaurant car for a plate of fried rice with vegetables and tofu - my staple diet on this Thai detox.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;em&gt;My writing has caught the attention of the waitress, who smiles, comes to sit next to me so she can watch me write, takes my pen and autographs my notebook. &lt;a href="http://www.thaiforlovers.com/letters_encourage.html" target="_blank"&gt;Thai script&lt;/a&gt; looks somehow runic, magical, and I tell her that because her name, when written, looks so beautiful, she should be sure to her man to tattoo it somewhere on his body. She speaks no English, but smiles and nods sweetly. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Paris, Texas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;I've escaped here from the unexpected busy and squalid sleeper car - it's always hit-or-miss with these trains, and this time it's most definitely a miss. A trio of young American girls in their early twenties, sullen-looking and slow-moving, has reserved neighbouring berths. Their expressions say, "Dude, Paris Hilton &lt;strong&gt;so&lt;/strong&gt; wouldn't be seen dead here - not even in a reality show" They don't know that cockroaches roam the aisles, corners and crevics of the carriages, or that the train, on its 15-hour, 700km journey, will probably be carrying a sizeable cargo of live - and loose - rats. But I do.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;The 9.15pm service to Chiang Mai leaves Bangkok late, lurching hesitantly from Hualongphon station at just after ten. I've already supped on stir-fried vegetables in oyster sauce, steamed rice and three handfuls of pumpkin seeds (for my zinc levels).&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;em style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;Islands in the stream&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Country music blares from the primitive but nonetheless powerful sound system - Glenn Frey, or someone from the hills of the American South with a (first)name that starts with Mc or Mac. There is a deep and impenetrable mystery to Thai tastes in music. Weirdly sentimental, with a streak of uninhibited hysteria. The staff sing along, stopping for the occasional gulp of Singha beer or a drag on a cigarette. They are cheerful and friendly - casual, even, to the point of familiarity. But they are genuinely interested in having a good time, and if you're not, that'll ruin theirs. So they are motivated, unlike the staff on the Caledonian Sleeper, who are at best, casually casual, and at worst, casually behaving as if their usual work is at one of &lt;a href="http://www.hmprisonservice.gov.uk/" target="_blank"&gt;Her Majesty's residences&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Epilogue&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This tale has a rather sorry end in that I lost (irrevocably) my cellphone between eating breakfast and taking the tuk-tuk from Chiang Mai station to my guest house. This gave me the chance to meet and exchange wide smiles with a young Thai policeman who bore an unlikely but thrilling resemblance to Cary Grant. He spoke no English; I speak no Thai. End of story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The train arrived predictably late. &lt;a href="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/dreamers-738879.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 278px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 159px" height="99" alt="" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/dreamers-735853.jpg" width="215" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This was fortunate for the American girls who, oblivious to the potential livestock with which they shared their carriage, dozed shamelessly until nearly midday. The bemusement of the train staff, who'd been up since around dawn, gave way to hilarity as the girls' curtains were displaced by the shunting of the train, revealing their sprawled and lolling forms, draped languidly across the berths in entirely incongruous (given the Gap clothes) Pre-Raphaelite poses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw them last on Chiang Mai station, where they had been nabbed by the hotel hawkers and were being hurried towards a tuk-tuk. That they needed a bed for the night was clear from their dazed expressions..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-114095413564820628?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/114095413564820628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=114095413564820628' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/114095413564820628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/114095413564820628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/02/its-stranger-on-train.html' title='It&apos;s stranger on a train'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-113965772652812961</id><published>2006-02-08T11:04:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-11-09T11:31:01.360Z</updated><title type='text'>L'Enfer, c'est l'autres</title><content type='html'>It seems to happen to me more and more often, maybe as I get older - that I arrive somewhere too late. It's like meeting someone, falling in love, and then realising that they haven't actually been the person you fell in love with for some years, maybe even decades. Railay is a case in point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/Laylay-746127.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 5px; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 134px;" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/Laylay-737958.JPG" alt="Railay" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Everyone I asked about Railay said, "Oh, Lay&lt;em&gt;lay - &lt;/em&gt;the most &lt;em&gt;beautiful&lt;/em&gt; beach in Thailand. Lovely, lovely." Always, dear reader, interrogate your source in depth. Had I asked "and when were you last there", the answer would probably have been "oh, two, three, maybe even four years ago". Since then, it's suffered a migration of tourists from such places as the Costas del Sol and Blanca. Hell - with highlights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Krabi peninsular, along which lie Railay and neighbouring Ton Sai, is beautiful, for sure. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/longtails-799951.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 5px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 144px; height: 192px;" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/longtails-794729.jpg" alt="Longtail boats, Railay" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Inaccessible by land or air, its dazzling white sands, azure waters and soaring cliffs can only be reached by longtail boat. These are, naturally, driven by maniacs who cram them with passengers to squeeze extra cash out of each trip. Many boats have few - in some cases no - lifejackets, and sit low in the water as the boatmen speed back and forth, dropping off their dazed cargo at various beaches enroute. I arrived at Au Nang from Krabi by minibus (a real bile-riser; a 14-seater &lt;em&gt;&lt;a href="http://img1.travelblog.org/Photos/1548/3086/t/10179-A--Songthaew--in-Chiang-Mai-Thailand-0.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;songthaew&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/em&gt; packed with 15 tourists and twelve children dangling from the back) and was fascinated by a skyscape that somehow resembled a vast and hungry monster, rampaging across a leaden sky. Thunder rumbled across the bay, muffled and distant. The occasional flash on the horizon signalled a far-off storm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Perfect Storm&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/longtail-796339.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 5px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/longtail-793181.jpg" alt="Stormy skies, Au Nang" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The storm proved not to be far off at all and, from underneath the small scarlet tarpaulin, which seemed to glow brightly against the black and swollen sea, I experienced horizontal rain for the first time. The effect was accentuated by the speed of the boat, and we simultaneously cursed the deluge while remaining grateful that the rain was actually warm, and that we were all wearing beach clothes. Lightening flashed across the horizon, flickering silver streaks across the water. Little white horses reared atop the waves, signalling probable disaster, but we reached the shore in fifteen minutes, drenched and exhilarated. Within a half-hour, it was sunny and warm again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-113965772652812961?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/113965772652812961/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=113965772652812961' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113965772652812961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113965772652812961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/02/lenfer-cest-lautres.html' title='L&apos;Enfer, c&apos;est l&apos;autres'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-113888885243416467</id><published>2006-02-02T12:52:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-11-09T11:31:01.049Z</updated><title type='text'>Beach Branket Babyron</title><content type='html'>Inspiration came more quickly than expected, and after two nights on Koh Yao Yai I left for my current address, Railay. Railay, confusingly, is pronounced 'Laylay'. Sometimes, Layray. But not Raylay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone at Lonely Planet is to blame for this, I'm sure. Maybe it's the same bright spark who refers to the "tonnes" of good restaurants to be found in yet another over-visited Thai sunspot (pure lies - the best restaurants in Thailand are the toothless old women with birds-nest hair stuffed under filthy hats, squatting in kerbs and loitering at street corners, brandishing frying pans, noodles and bunches of spring onions). Since when did metaphorical measurements go &lt;em&gt;metric&lt;/em&gt;? I despair, really. It's like those &lt;a href="http://flickr.com/photos/totallygone/84196709/" target="_blank"&gt;hungover dyslexics&lt;/a&gt; I've worked with who do jobs that involve signing off style sheets. Lonely Planet employs editors who are in chronic recovery from months stoned on Goan beaches or weeks of sleeplessness on the Trans Siberian Railway. By strange coincidence, dear reader, neither destination figures in my current plans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It may well be time for a total career change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Laylay is a welcome escape from Koh Yao Yai, which, except for its tourist inhabitants, was fabulous...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Yao Yai - &lt;i&gt;YAY!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/IMG_0681-791992.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 5px; float: right; width: 134px; height: 168px;" alt="Sunset, Koh Yao Yai" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/IMG_0681-785075.JPG" border="0" height="143" width="106" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;If you ever go to Phuket, don't stop there - keep going to Koh Yao Yai.&lt;p&gt;Take a good novel, mosquito net and your own liquor; it's a Muslim island, meaning that there's no alcohol and, best of all, no dogs. In Asia, dogs bark day and night. Or yap, depending on the size. They're rarely cute, usually malnourished, and they inevitably make themselves unwelcome. Poor Rona managed, a couple of weeks back, to get nipped in the Achilles Heel while on an early morning jog in &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sukhothai_kingdom" target="_blank"&gt;Sukhothai&lt;/a&gt;. Some mange-ridden half-bred runt of a hound had mistaken her, no doubt, for a decent meal. After her seven days of fasting and coffee-colonics, this was, you can imagine, a huge mistake.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, back to Koh Yao Yai. It may sound like a dull kinda place to you, but the best thing about a dry destination is that the Club Med brigade are, surprise suprise, nowhere to be seen. Downtown Watford, teleported to a sandbar by some cheap charter, is a different dimension, light-years, light-&lt;i&gt;millenia&lt;/i&gt; away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ibiblio.org/simon/blog/uploaded_images/dry.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 5px; float: left; width: 190px; height: 144px;" alt="Women, Koh Yao Yai" src="http://www.ibiblio.org/simon/blog/uploaded_images/dry.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Beautiful women adorned with sequinned headscarves and brightly-coloured &lt;em&gt;lunghi&lt;/em&gt; waft serenely through the coconut groves, their voices rising only to shoo the equally blissed-out cats (not a dog in sight, right?) away from their kitchens. I arrived at the little pier, having crossed the bay from Phuket, and was greeted by one of these Muslim maidens who, in the style of a Bond girl, greeted me with a &lt;em&gt;wai &lt;/em&gt;and beckoned me to hop on the back of her Honda Wave (125cc). She drove about 50 yards, dropping me and my backpack at a nearby resort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;It's a Kind of Magic&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not. The &lt;a href="http://www.asianfaeries.com/" target="_blank"&gt;Faerie Gathering &lt;/a&gt;had, by the time I arrived (late, of course, by about four days), morphed into a cross between 'Survivor' and 'I'm a Celebrity, Get Me out of Here'. It's a chicken/egg thing. Did people, when they went off to camp (or wherever) always form such gossipy little cliques, throwing little hissy fits whenever someone decided to leave in search of: a better time; cleaner bed; more charming company? I once, in my early childhood, belonged to some strange little club run out of a green Nissan hut in Leytonstone called the ATC (jeezusmary they're still &lt;a href="http://www.reserve-forces-london.org.uk/ATC/londonWing.htm" target="_blank"&gt;THERE&lt;/a&gt;!) until I heard some plump little bully boasting about their 'initiation' ceremonies and what he'd done to some other kid with a jar of mustard and a pair of underpants. If there's one thing sicker than child sex, it's heterosexual teenage boys playing with each other's genitals and pretending there's something masculine about it. Anyway, enough. Back to the Faeries.&lt;/p&gt;The 'Gathering' was faintly redolent of a teen camp, populated by out-of-control pubescents in various stages of &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Progeria" target="_blank"&gt;progeria&lt;/a&gt;. The lack of somewhere decent to stay, the nasty (and, by strange twist of fate, contraband even for grownups) beer, 'group activities', having to share with a total stranger, the lot. The last of these I refused outright, stony-faced and jutting my newly-acquired jawline.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A Fisher of Men&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;The hi-lite of the trip (I choose this word with great glee) was the Curious Incident of the Blowjob in the Night-time. One of the group, a twenty-something from Belarus (yeah, I know - &lt;em&gt;where&lt;/em&gt;?), with bleached hair, a hurt foot (motorbike accident, of course, raw flesh under ripped jeans) found himself at a loose end one night and headed down to the beach in search of a good time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This he found, in the form of two Burmese fishermen, who provided and demanded sexual favours and expected, in return, his mobile phone and wallet. Few caucasian twenty-somethings and even fewer blonds of that age expect to have to pay for sex, least of all sex on a beach with third-world peasants, surrounded by creeping&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/crabs-739812.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 5px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 143px; height: 187px;" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/crabs-731663.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; things. He managed to get away with just about everything but his dignity intact, and was henceforth treated by the rest of the group like a small and slightly retarded child who'd been caught shoplifting from a dollar store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was all set to return to the beach the following night, &lt;em&gt;sans &lt;/em&gt;personal effects, but was reminded of poor Katherine Norton's fate. Whatsmore, it's common knowledge (locally) that some of the fishermen indulge in unspeakable and unsafe practices, shooting up cheap heroin, sharing both needles and the &lt;i&gt;kathoeys&lt;/i&gt; they keep as servants and sex slaves. Women aren't allowed on the boats, but approximations are.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-113888885243416467?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/113888885243416467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=113888885243416467' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113888885243416467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113888885243416467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/02/beach-branket-babyron.html' title='Beach Branket Babyron'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-113858914286140695</id><published>2006-01-30T02:41:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-11-09T11:31:00.796Z</updated><title type='text'>Away with the faeries</title><content type='html'>So, unexpected freedom in the form of an expired contract with my employer in the UK. I feel rather like a kite whose string has broken - buoyed only by an ever-changing, tropically-heated breeze. What to do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In situations such as these, where radical measures must be taken, one must await divine inspiration and call forth the spirits. So I'm off to join the Radical Faeries on Koh Yao Yai for the next four days and see what comes up. You can find us on google.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More later...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-113858914286140695?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/113858914286140695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=113858914286140695' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113858914286140695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113858914286140695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/01/away-with-faeries.html' title='Away with the faeries'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-113799293238365962</id><published>2006-01-23T04:54:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-11-09T11:31:00.425Z</updated><title type='text'>This house is clean....</title><content type='html'>&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;" src="http://www.totallygone.com/blog/uploaded_images/tangina-724611.jpg" border="0" width="110px" alt="Tangina" /&gt; So, the fast is over and yes, I feel much better. A little lighter, maybe, but a lot clearer of both head and skin. With one small qualifier; I'd escaped (or so I thought) what's known among the colonic &lt;i&gt;cognoscenti&lt;/i&gt; as a '&lt;a href="http://www.falconblanco.com/health/crisis.htm" target="blank"&gt;healing crisis'&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sore throat I'd brought over from England developed quickly into a two-day cold then left, leaving me energised and in high spirits. On the very last day of the fast, however, a huge and unsightly boil appeared on my neck, the general effect being as though I'd been attacked by a vampire possessed of only one yellow and jagged tooth. This has yet to disappear, but as soon as it does, I'll post a self-portrait.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-113799293238365962?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/113799293238365962/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=113799293238365962' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113799293238365962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113799293238365962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/01/this-house-is-clean.html' title='This house is clean....'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-113799204107309379</id><published>2006-01-23T04:41:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-11-09T11:30:59.936Z</updated><title type='text'>The Singha path to enlightenment</title><content type='html'>Thais are a tolerant and mainly optimistic people. That's what gets them into all kinds of trouble with &lt;a href="http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2003/10/20031020-27.html" target="_blank"&gt;greedy and powerful white men&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here, you can walk into Bangkok's equivalent of Harrods and find yourself being served by a &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Katoey" target="_blank"&gt;kathoey&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt; so utterly convincing that you'd forgive yourself for fancying her or, as many unsuspecting farang do, going further. However, where men of the cloth are concerned, it's a matter of &lt;a href="http://www.chiangmai-mail.com/current/news.shtml#hd4" target="_blank"&gt;zero tolerance&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-113799204107309379?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/113799204107309379/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=113799204107309379' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113799204107309379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113799204107309379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/01/singha-path-to-enlightenment.html' title='The Singha path to enlightenment'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-113750347957390463</id><published>2006-01-17T12:43:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-11-09T11:30:59.289Z</updated><title type='text'>Paradise. Well, not quite...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:0;"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 5px; float: right; width: 150px; cursor: pointer;" alt="Samui sunrise" src="http://static.flickr.com/23/88508364_a10aaa0cbe_o.jpg" target="_blank" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Two topics have featured regularly in the British press this January; firstly that of 21-year-old Katherine Horton's rape and murder on a Thai beach and, secondly, the annual array of articles advocating detoxing as a kick-start to the new year. By some weird coincidence - the type that often seems to choose me - I find myself staying just 200 yards from the exact spot where Katherine met her death, having come &lt;a href="http://www.spasamui.com/virtual_beach.htm" target="_blank"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt; for one of the most extreme detoxification treatments available- a &lt;a href="http://www.spasamui.com/fasting_program.htm#firstFast" target="_blank"&gt;seven-day&lt;/a&gt; combination of fasting and twice-daily colonic irrigation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone I meet seems just as surprised to be here, involved in this strange carry-on, as I am. There's a general air of mild hilarity underlying the cameraderie among the fasters; the only way to deal with walking around with a 15-litre bucket of coffee intended for a &lt;a href="http://www.newbodyandmind.com/colonic_irrigation.htm" target="_blank"&gt;half-hour-long enema &lt;/a&gt;is to giggle as soon as you bump into someone. Beat them to it. Make sure they're laughing &lt;em&gt;with&lt;/em&gt; you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ASBO Samui&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;It's an almost absurd, and entirely self-absorbed way to spend seven days, especially in such an idyllic and mainly hedonisting setting. Most people come here, as did the unfortunate Katherine, to party, rather than fast. Everything here is much, much cheaper here than in Europe: accommodation, food, alcohol, car-and motorcycle-hire and, of course, sex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although various parts of Samui remain as serenely beautiful as they were say, ten or even twenty years ago, the sizeable mark made by the arrival &lt;em&gt;en masse&lt;/em&gt; of tourists from the west can best be described as grubby, greasy and decidely unwholesome. What's most surprising is that the young girl's attackers turned out to be Thai - just about everyone who's been &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/davide_p/75202432/" target="_blank"&gt;ASBO'd out of Blackpool&lt;/a&gt;, (and maybe a few remand prisoners from the Scrubs) seems to be here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-113750347957390463?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/113750347957390463/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=113750347957390463' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113750347957390463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113750347957390463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/01/paradise-well-not-quite.html' title='Paradise. Well, not quite...'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-113798676624685461</id><published>2006-01-12T03:26:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-11-09T11:30:59.601Z</updated><title type='text'>Acid wit, alkaline spit</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:+0;"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 10px; WIDTH: 100px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="Alkaline litmus test" src="http://static.flickr.com/14/88508436_e657da9d8c.jpg" border="0" target="_blank" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Passing the test means starting the fast; there's nothing worse than having to hang around waiting while your "co-cleansers" are speeding through their detox drinks, herbal pills and coffee colemas. It's also part of the institutionalisation programme - by day seven, you're so entrenched in the routine of taking 6 pills and two pints of fluid every couple of hours, punctuated by the coffee wash, that you may as well be part of a cult. The Cult of the Colon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-113798676624685461?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/113798676624685461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=113798676624685461' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113798676624685461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113798676624685461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2006/01/acid-wit-alkaline-spit.html' title='Acid wit, alkaline spit'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3857693.post-113577765157839055</id><published>2005-12-28T13:45:00.000Z</published><updated>2006-11-09T11:30:58.785Z</updated><title type='text'>We love you, but not long time</title><content type='html'>One of the greatest things about living in London (compared to, say, San Francisco) is how easy and quick it is to get away. Christmas is by far the best, &lt;em&gt;best&lt;/em&gt; time not to be here. The three most cheerful faces in my office today are those that spent Christmas somewhere sunny, somewhere exotic, and somewhere that wasn't London.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thirty years ago, my mother, cousin and I spent two weeks in Sorrento. Because we were made homeless earlier that year by an insane arsonist-cum-babysitter, my mother took it upon herself to take flight to sunnier shores, so she packed me up, brought my cousin along for company, and the three of us lived it up on the Amalfi Coast for Christmas and New Year. My mother was, at the time, thirty years old, and even more glamorous than she is now. So it was a smart move - the Hotel Royal, where we stayed, treated her as though she were the original English princess with two small boys in tow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Bambini, schmambini&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you too want to be treated like visiting royalty when you visit Italy, take small children with you. Cute ones, blond(e) if at all possible, but not dyed. It's such a cliche, &lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;but really, Italians will love you much more if you're traveling with &lt;i&gt;gli infanti&lt;/i&gt; (but not long time).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Older children, I found, are unlikely to fare as well. My mother and I discovered this to our cost when we dined at a lovely little restaurant on Sorrento's Marina Grande, &lt;a href="http://www.zintoniomare.com/" target="_blank"&gt;Zi'ntonio Mare&lt;/a&gt;. I'd been recommended the place by my aunt, who took her grandchildren there daily when they stayed in Sorrento. They were, she said, treated as though they were - you guessed it - Wills and Harry &lt;em&gt;en entourage&lt;/em&gt;.  Arriving there the drenched from a sudden and unexpected downpour, my mother and I were welcomed as though we were the restaurant's only guests.  With the exception of a pair of young drunks in a corner, we were, in fact, the only clientele. The remaining staff, a reserved-but-jovial headwaiter and his young assistant, a handsome, willowy fellow with an unlikely and incongruous paunch (that somehow seemed borrowed or stuck on), were clearly delighted to see us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Strange frutti&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Explaining that theirs was a famous fish restaurant, they offered us a medley of &lt;em&gt;frutti di mare &lt;/em&gt;followed by some locally-caught white fish. We accepted, sipped our prosecco, and waited, listening to the soft drumming of raindrops on the roof. Soon, the dishes arrived - about four in all. So, naturally, we assumed that because it was late, the whole lot was being served simultaneously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gentle reader, we were very wrong. Just about everything that was left in the kitchen found its festive way to our table. Octopus (about two, nicely dissected), the other piled-high half of the plate crowded by squid and interesting pieces of unidentifiable fish. Delicious. Little chunks of white fish sat in another bowl, strewn with fronds of steamed spinach. Lovely. We ate, and ate. And ate. Christmas comes, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Outside, the rain lashed the &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/pondskater/23382404/" target="_blank"&gt;picturesque harbour&lt;/a&gt;. Inside, the drunks were allowed to smoke in their secluded corner. We finished eating, satisfied and relieved. The plates were removed, with polite smiles and offers of more prosecco.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, they arrived with more cutlery. We were, of course, with our distended stomachs, quite shocked. "&lt;em&gt;More?" &lt;/em&gt;I squeaked&lt;em&gt;. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Signor, maybe there has been some misunderstanding. The white fish is arriving soon." I realised that we were possibly in the presence of relatives of The Sopranos, and thought "hey, it's Christmas. Why not?" So we force-fed ourselves the fish, determined that its life not be lost in vain,  downed a glass of limoncello, and sped away in a taxi that cost 20 euros for a three-minute drive.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3857693-113577765157839055?l=ibiblio.org%2Fsimon%2Fblog' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/113577765157839055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3857693&amp;postID=113577765157839055' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113577765157839055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3857693/posts/default/113577765157839055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ibiblio.org/simon/blog/2005/12/we-love-you-but-not-long-time.html' title='We love you, but not long time'/><author><name>totallygone.com</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08237099083152792842</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16761986228557689282'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>